


Day at the Off(ler)ice

by Cloud_Portagate



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloud_Portagate/pseuds/Cloud_Portagate
Summary: InHogfatherBilious, the Oh God of Hangovers, has the brilliant idea to tell Violet, a tooth fairy, that he is actually a substitute for the Gods, when they want to have a bit of a holiday, and that he is only temporarily being the God of Hangovers.This is a story of how his dreams come true.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Day at the Off(ler)ice

**Author's Note:**

> Another work I needed to get out of my head. 
> 
> Fibulia is my own invention, but I think she fits with Canon.   
> 
> 
> Telephini and Telephoni were invented by my father during a game of scrabble, and I have been waiting 18 years for a chance to put them into something. 
> 
> That being said I have no pecuniary interest in this story

Bilious frowned at the Street of Cunning Artificers. This wasn’t, strictly speaking, his first time in Ankh-Morpork, but it was his first time more-or-less sober. It was evening, the time when hangovers were typically at their lightest and he could think past the pounding headache. 

He had told Violet that he had a new contract in the offing, that he would soon be able to tell the proper God of Hangovers that he could no longer cover for Him. He wished that were truly the case. The spring mist curled up from the river as he walked aimlessly through the city. Fat Lunchtime was coming. It had started in Genua, but, like many things that involved a good party and a lot of alcohol, had come to Ankh-Morpork. Soon he would be inebriated and aching from dawn to dusk and then beyond. And it wasn’t just for one night anymore. No, now it carried on for a week, and shops were selling alcohol at reduced prices for nearly a month beforehand. Fat Lunchtime was just a word now, or two words, not really a time of meaning. 

Of course, what it meant was that a lot of people would have hangovers and that Bilious, incarnation of hangovers, would experience them all. It was good for the old belief though. Everyone moaning his name in dreadful worship. “Oh God!” they’d say. Usually followed by “never again. I’m never drinking again.” Of course, those vows never lasted and Bilious sometimes wondered whether his Oh Godly powers could be used to strike down those who defied their oaths. But, as he had reflected through a particularly inebriated haze one night, if people didn’t drink then they wouldn’t get hangovers, and there would be nothing for him to do, and he’d fade into… something. 

His feet had led him to the temple of Offler. _He_ didn’t get temples. No, he got gutters and other people’s beds, and, occasionally, fields, trees and other rural areas. He supposed now, looking enviously at the gold-ish crocodile head adorning the doorway, that he should be glad that he had no need of temples. Wherever there were people, it seemed, there was alcohol, and where there was alcohol there were hangovers. 

Bilious watched the crocodile head on the door. Something had changed about it, but he couldn’t tell what. Then it winked. 

“Biliouth, ith it?” Offler asked, lisping through his carved fangs. 

Bilious wasn’t sure of protocol. If he had been a human he should have been honoured. As a God, or rather an Oh God, he wasn’t sure whether this was a conversation between equals. It was hard to think of a crocodile as equal to a blisteringly drunk, vomit ridden, walking headache. He settled for nodding. 

“The thubthtitute?” 

Bilious paused, adding esses. The substitute? “yes, I know that’s what I said but…”

“Are you buthy?” Offler interrupted. 

“No.” 

“Then get up here. It’th Fat Lunchtime in Genua and I want to thee what goeth on.” He paused and added thoughtfully, “there’s alligatorth there, too. I’ve never met an alligator.” 

Bilious neither knew nor cared what an alligator was. They didn’t drink and that was good enough for him. “Uh- well- yes, of course. How long will you be uh- gone?” 

“About a week.” 

“Alright,” what else could he say? 

“Good. I’ll thee you up here tomorrow.” 

“But how-” Bilious tried to ask, but the statue was just a statue once again. _How do I get there?_

***  


In fact, it was easy. Bilious found a room in the Shades, took it for one night, “payment in advance, thank you, I don’t take chances me,” left the door unlocked so that the suspicious landlady could come in the following morning, and _concentrated_. 

As the Oh God of Hangovers this was harder than it sounded. But, as the Oh God of Hangovers, it was, theoretically, possible. Bilious had a slight feeling that this was a _schnapsidee_ : an idea that, in the presence of alcohol, sounds brilliant, but in the cold clear light of morning is recognizably a disaster, but he went ahead with it anyway because, in the grip of an alcoholic haze who was he to argue with himself. 

Simply put Bilious and Bibulous were connected, and, since Bibulous was to be found in Dunmanifestin then Bilious could use the connection to get himself there. Of course, it would mean crashing Bibulous’s party, but Bilious was at the stage of drunkenness by this point that this didn’t seem a bad idea. Bibulous would probably be grateful to him for turning up to remind people not to drink so much. It would make for a cheaper evening for him. And, as a bonus, his guests wouldn’t be so dreadfully hungover in the morning. Which was also good for Bilious. Yes, this was a good and sound plan, and it was only proper that Bibulous should allow Bilious to find him. Although, Bilious couldn’t help thinking there was something he had forgotten. 

***  


Bilious winced as he pulled another cocktail stick from his chest. What he had forgotten, in his alcoholic haze, was that Bibulous, while the God of Wine, was also the God of Things On Sticks. Bilious had manifested on a tray of canapés, all of which seemed to involve cocktail sticks, kebab skewers or toothpicks. At that moment he had really wished he wasn’t immortal and that the pain would end. 

The funny thing was that, up here, and de-sticked, he could separate himself from the hangovers of mankind. They were still there, following him around like mosquitoes making a high-pitched whine that was almost, but not quite, possible to ignore. Of course, the sobriety only reminded him that, by manifesting at Bibulous’s evening party he had foregone his chance of a bed. And while the gutter had served many of his worshippers over the millennia, he rather felt that as an Oh God, and, moreover, as a sober one, it would be beneath his dignity to adopt such a position. Perhaps, as an Oh God he could create a dwelling from raw firmament, which he understood to be a popular building material. 

Despite several attempts, however, Bilious found that he was either missing the trick, or else all of the raw firmament had been used up on the fancy palaces of Offler, Io and Om. Finally, Bilious gave up and, muttering imprecations against all pompous beings who took more firmament than was their due, accepted that he was destined to a cold and lonely gutter, and tried to take comfort from the facts that a) it wasn’t raining, and b) he wasn’t lying in his own vomit, or in something sticky. 

***  


Offler, the following morning, was rather brief in his instructions before moving at a deceptively fast crawl away from his palace and into… space. If he concentrated Bilious could still see him, but, while the Domicile of Fate was clearly in front of him, Offler Himself was crawling into a swampy, misty, fuggy city. One of the hangovers buzzed angrily and Bilious swatted it. He was Offler now, he had no time for hangovers. 

He was glad, however, that Offler had told him not to manifest to any worshippers. He wasn’t sure he could manage to re-shape himself as a crocodile, and no amount of belief would look past the stained toga, wilting ivy crown and bloodshot eyes. Offler had also said he never bothered with the prayers, which struck Bilious as rather insensitive, but, as he never had any to deal with himself, he was also a little but glad of this as well. What Bilious needed to do, Offler had tried to explain, was fill the occult space for a while, so that He could go off and have fun. Or that was how Bilious understood it. 

The smell of sausages wafted past and Bilious looked around hopefully but saw no sign of them. He did, however, see a woman leaning against the doorpost, smoking a cigarette. 

“You alright, love?” she asked, then, without pausing, “you’re the new one aren’t you? The substitute?” 

“Yes” Bilious tried to say, but she’d gone straight over him. 

“I was new ‘ere once, meself, love, but now they say I’m the coming thing. We get the Ankh-Morpork _Times_ up ‘ere. Well, it’s good to keep an eye on what the ‘umans are thinking, isn’t it? They don’t know about you though, love. I wonder if it’ll be enough? Well, you’ll find out soon. I’m Anoia, love. I do drawers. And zips. They want me to do zips. I mean, look at these ‘ands, are these ‘ands that can do zips? I tell them I won’t but they don’t listen. They never do, love, there’s no point paying them any mind. I mean, they’re going to pray anyway, so what’s the point?” 

Bilious, used to Violet’s habit of continuous chatter which she never actually wanted you to listen to, tuned out Anoia about halfway though her diatribe, collecting only enough words to nod when she asked a question. The sausage smell was driving him mad, but there was still no sign of it. 

“…and ‘e says ‘e never ‘andles the prayers, well, I say to him, I mean, it’s all very well for ‘im, what’s ‘e got, sausage? But me, no, I’ve got rattles and clangs and bangs all day long. I mean, I’ve got to work ‘aven’t I, love?” 

One word percolated through Bilious’s unheeding mind and riveted him to her next pause for breath. “Sausage! I can smell sausage, but I can’t see it.” 

“Oh, it’s the prayers, love. They come to ‘im as sausage. Just you let them know you’ve got them, and they’ll go away. It makes people feel valued, they tell me. Well, it’s all very well, but if I don’t do something they just go on rattling, don’t they, love. I mean, _I_ don’t have an easy job of it. And they want me to do zips...” Bilious tuned her out again. 

Acknowledge the sausage. He _was_ acknowledging the sausage. He was _salivating_ in acknowledgement. Then he noticed that he could separate sausage smells into types of sausage, and that, when he did, each one coalesced into a separate ghostly sausage made of smell. And as he saw each one, they vanished with a whisper of prayer. It was impossible to separate one from the other with this many: 

_…my child who needs…_

_…guidance in the sale…_

_…help me find…_

_…I can’t go on…_

_…not fair…_

_…hope…_

_…health…_

_…calm…_

_…clear sight…_

_…death…_

Bilious closed his ears to them as he tried to concentrate again on Anoia, in order to shut out the dreadful pleas. 

“…and I mean, it’s not like there’s ever any thanks. Oh, you get a ladle or a whisk, but what’s the good of that. They’ll just go and get another one and next week its ‘Oh Anoia!’ so, really, love, you’re just as well ignoring them. And don’t get me started on manifesting! I mean, love, you’d think a Goddess would be a bit of something, wouldn’t you? I mean ‘ow many times can they expect to see a Goddess? I’m telling you, love, you’re just better off ignoring the ‘ole lot of them. I mean…” The prayers had stopped and Bilious was able to tune her out. 

He began to explore the lodgings he seemed to have acquired for the week, if Offler’s palace could be considered lodgings. It seemed to have more rooms than were ever likely to be used. Especially as the main room seemed to consist of a pool with shallow sandy banks. Nowhere else in the building looked used, and Bilious availed himself of one of the smaller bedrooms, Anoia chattering behind him all they way. 

He was starting to think she’d get on well with Violet and wondered what they’d do in each other’s company. Neither ever stopped talking. Would they just talk over one another, getting louder until they exploded, or would one of them be forced to stop for more than the space of a breath? 

“… saying I’m too thin. Too thin! I mean, ‘oo ‘as time to go around making sure they’re manifesting the right size. I mean, if I want to keep me cigarette, I’m telling you I can’t do more that ‘uman shape, love, so I wouldn’- oh, I ‘ear a rattling. Must go. Lovely to meet you, Billy.” And she was gone. 

Oddly, despite not having taken in more than one word in twenty, Bilious found the place lonelier without her chatter. 

***  


After three days of being Offler, Bilious found himself getting quite good at dealing with the prayers. He could even listen to them one at a time, although the temple services when they all came up together gave him a headache, and he tended not to pay attention to those. He was still unclear exactly how you answered them, but Offler had said not to bother and Anoia, in her long-winded way, appeared to say the same thing. 

There were strange things to do and Bilious found himself embarrassed to ask the Gods, correction, the _other_ Gods about what to do. Between the tallies of baby crocodile food, animals, sausages, mustard, money and other offerings, alongside requests and the prayers, some of which seemed highly reproachful, added to the fact that, every few hours, a baby crocodile would turn up in the pool in the main room, Bilious seemed to be very busy, but without knowing why, or what to do. 

To avoid the baby crocodiles, two of which had nearly taken off his fingers this morning, Bilious was roaming the streets of Dunmanifestin. He had seen several of the other Gods: Blind Io, Seven-Handed Sek, Fate, Fedecks, and Bast, and had stayed out of their way. With the exception of Io they had all looked at him as though he might explode at any moment, which was rather worrying. Io’s cloud of eyeballs had swiveled in unison to face him, which was possibly even worse. But, for now, he wondered the deserted streets, humming tunelessly and hoping that he wasn’t manifesting a tail, which had happened this morning, to his acute embarrassment. 

At least by now the clothes had improved themselves. He was still wearing a toga, but it was clean, beige and had a thick band of silver embroidered crocodiles. The ivy crown had been replaced by a neat, scaled circlet and two gold bands had formed at his wrists each embedded with crocodile teeth extending half the length of his forearms. The teeth had manifested on the bracelets this morning when he had objected to the tail. On balance, however, Bilious preferred the teeth. 

He was walking through a part of town he’d never entered before, a more homely area, devoid of gold and palaces, and seemingly built everything from cozy cottages to shacks. These, and he had to search through a lot of the Omniscience he, technically, had access to, were the household Gods. They weren’t Small Gods, not yet, but they had once been grander than they were today. A Goddess knitting on her front porch waved to him as he approached, and called out a cheery “Hello, my ducks, I haven’t seen you before”. 

“Hello, ma’am.” It was a lot easier to talk to his fellow divinities now that he looked less like a weasel’s cesspit. “I’m Bilious. I’m standing in for-”

“Offler, yes. It suits you. Much better than hangovers, isn’t it, my ducks?” 

“You know about the hangovers?” 

“Oh, ducky, everyone’s heard of Bilious the Substitute. I don’t think you’ll be going back to the hangover business anytime soon. I hear that Narrativa might be taking over that from you. She says that her little ducks do their best work when drunk anyway, so it’s a natural progression for her.” 

“Ducks?” Bilious asked. Ducks had not hitherto been known for their drunkenness in his experience. 

“Oh, that’s just a term, duckie. I was born in a place where that’s what people say. And now I’m stuck with it. Like Anoia and her ‘loves’. You’ve met Anoia, haven’t you, duck, she makes a point of talking at everyone.” She smiled in a sympathetic way, and Bilious realized that Anoia must have lived near here before her elevation. This Goddess, for all her ducks, must have been a frequent target of Anoia’s chatter. 

“Uh-?” was as far as Bilious got before she clapped a hand to her forehead, dropping a needle in the process, and cried out, “but I didn’t introduce myself did I, duckie? I’m Fibulia, Goddess of Lost Buttons.” The knitting free hand reached out to clasp Bilious’s and he noticed that her fingernails were painted in different pastel shades with four little dots on each one. “well, it’s buttons now, but it wasn’t always. And Anoia wants me to do zips. I think I should. She’ll have enough on her plate when she gets promoted to Lost Causes. That’s a very busy job, you know. Desperato’s run off his feet. I’m sure he’ll appreciate a companion.” 

Bilious could only nod. It made sense of how Anoia had found him so quickly: he had been something of a lost cause before this week. But… Fibulia thought he’d be busy? 

“Come in and have a cuppa, why don’t you, my ducks? It’s getting to sewing time, and I always have a lot of buttons to find.” She led him in, still gripping the precarious knitting in one hand and waving it impatiently at the kettle which began steaming at once. 

“Could you get the teapot down for me, duckie? I don’t have a lot of company and I always put it out the way when I’m on my own.” Bilious reached up to the shadowed shelf she indicated and took down what looked like a polka dot vessel, but which, he saw when he brought it into the light, was decorated with yet more buttons. It also rattled as he moved it. Fibulia tipped it upside-down before she spooned in the tea leaves, and an array of buttons, clasps, buckles and bits of ribbon fell out. “That’s why I have to put it away. It gets full if I don’t,” she told him over the whistle of the kettle, as though that explained everything. 

She poured the water over the leaves and, as she did so, a prayer popped into existence over her head. At this point Bilious was unsurprised to see that it was button shaped. He was surprised when she plucked it out of the air and started sorting through the large chest of miscellaneous buttons that she had thrown the earlier contents of the teapot into. Eventually she found the one that she had been looking for and pressed it and the prayer together- they were identical. 

“There,” she said as they vanished, turning back to Bilious and the tea tray with a look of satisfaction. “It’s all very well for Offler and the Big Gods to ignore the prayers, but we’ve got more to do. It’s good for keeping the belief up. Most of the buttons never get prayed for,” she gestured to the trunk, one of several that made up the seats along two walls of her main room. “I know what the Big Boys say about manifesting, but some of us like to keep up appearances. I pop down every few months to drop off a chest or two. I think they appreciate it, to be honest. And some of those young priestesses make some lovely jewelry out of the extras.” 

Bilious took the teacup she proffered, allowing her a free hand to pass over a tray of biscuits. He took one, which changed shape from round to a comically fat bird. “Ah, you’ve been Offler for a few days now, haven’t you, my ducks? He of the Bird-Haunted Mouth. Such a shame. Still biscuits is better than seeing him swallow down the poor things while they’re still twittering.” She paused, as if for him to respond, but, before he had a chance to marshal his thoughts she carried on, though not unkindly, “how are you finding things, duckie? Did you get enough instruction?” 

“No!” Bilious burst forth gratefully. “I have all these tallies and ledgers and I don’t know what to do with them.” 

“Oh, I’ve heard of them. It’s all to do with sorting out who gets their prayers answered I’m told. Load of nonsense if you ask me. Why should it matter whether someone can afford big offerings? A button is a button, don’t you agree, duckie? But they do so insist on it. No, I can’t help you with those, my ducks, but if there’s anything else?” 

“Uh- the baby crocodiles?” 

“Oh, I wondered what he did about that! Well, it’s very simple really. When we get an offering, we can eat it. You’ve seen the prayers, well, the crocodiles are like that. I get the lost buttons, but I get the spirit of the buttons too, you see. Of course, buttons aren’t much in the way of spiritual food, what with never being alive. But I get a lot of them. The crocodiles were probably dedicated to Offler but didn’t survive childhood. You might get an older one popping up now and again. If you’re lucky.” 

Bilious had been about to take a bit out of his biscuit when she started talking, but the prospect of eating baby crocodiles had quite put him off. “I have to eat-” he began. 

“Oh, no duckie, you just _acknowledge_ them. Like the prayers. You accept their existence, and they sort of _absorb_ into you. Offler, you see, is all crocodiles everywhere you see, my ducks, and the crocodiles come to him when they die. Have you heard humans talk about that Great Big Haberdashery in the Sky? It’s like that. He’s the Great Big Crocodile in the Sky. The one they all want to grow up to become. In a way, they do. It’s quite sweet really.” 

Bilious look a bite of his biscuit. It tasted like chicken, which, by now, was a refreshing change from sausage. 

“But I’m not really Offler, am I? Can I still-”

“Oh, but you _are_ Offler, my ducks, for the time being. I don’t see why not. Have another biscuit. You look as though you could use feeding.” 

***  


Bilious left Fibulia’s place as it started getting dark. He had learned over the past few days that a lot of the prayers can in during the evening, and he didn’t want to ignore her. In a talkative way she was nice. He had enjoyed her company and the chicken biscuits and salami tea had made a nice change from sausages. He would absorb the crocodiles tonight and make a start on the books in the morning. 

***  


The rest of the week seemed to pass quickly: he understood his Goldy duties, now, and had even heard from two other Gods who were planning to take some time off. He had bought himself a diary and contacted Violet to tell her the good news. She was busy with her administrative work for the Tooth Fairy. Banjo was a good guardian of the teeth, and seemed to genuinely care about the children, but he couldn’t handle money, and he scared the girls. Violet, being an understanding soul, handled the staff roster, and had insisted Charlie hire a proper accountant. She seemed happy, but busy, bossing everyone around, and was delighted for him to have got out of that awful position. 

She had also lent him two promising tooth fairies who were reaching the age when the job had lost its charm but were unable to find jobs that needed much in the ladder-climbing and house-breaking trade. They had been gratefully employed by Om, who needed secretaries, and were happier than they had considered possible before their ascension. 

In fact, so was Bilious, he realized, as he donned the studded leather jacket of Reg, God of Club musicians and looked forward to a month blessedly free of sausage. All in all, being the Substitute of Gods wasn’t so bad. 

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Not true: Bilious couldn’t see where there weren’t hangovers, and so did not know about the strictly sober tribe of Telephini, where it was believed that all communication was sacrosanct and should, therefore, never be impaired by excessive drinking. Bilious was aware, however, of their neighbours the Telephoni who held that alcohol eased communication between individuals regardless of their differences, and who were, in consequence, encouraged to get raucously drunk at every opportunity.   
> 
> 
> (2) Examples include chocolate kettles, inflatable dartboards, macaroni cheese pies, and middle management.   
> 
> 
> (3) Alas, a great many Gods share the opinion that what is good enough for their worshippers is, nonetheless, not good enough for themselves. This explains a lot about Gods.   
> 
> 
> (4) In fact, raw firmament makes a poor building material as it is too soggy. It is far better when cooked.  
> 
> 
> (5) Knowing everything all the time is a sure-fire cause of a headache, and, in any case, it upsets the worshippers when you seem to know too much, so the Discworld Gods had developed a cloud storage platform uniquely their own. The only disadvantage was the rain.   
> 


End file.
